


Looking Underneath the Underneath

by FreakyPseudWriter



Category: Naruto
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Assassination Attempt(s), Assassination Plot(s), Bookshop, Disguise, Don't copy to another site, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, First Dates, Love/Hate, Reader-Insert, Secret Identity Fail, Self-Insert, assassin!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 01:26:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19189111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreakyPseudWriter/pseuds/FreakyPseudWriter
Summary: At first, killing Kakashi Hatake is just a job like all the other ones. Soon enough though, your business with him becomes personal and you go after him with all the wits and plans an assassin can hatch to bring a shinobi down.Unluckily, your emotions have plans on their own.





	Looking Underneath the Underneath

**Author's Note:**

> This is a request from my tumblr which grew a tiny little bit out of hand ^^'' 
> 
> Request: Can I request for a female reader and Kakashi fluff where the reader is a spy asked to assassinate Kakashi by stalking on him through various disguises; but fails because Kakashi always sees through them ?

The contract was trouble from the very start. You had realized that immediately when you received it. At first, you thought it was a bad joke. Someone actually trying to take down the _copy ninja_ himself, the warrior of the sharingan, wielder of a thousand jutsu, hero of the Kanabi Bridge, son of the White Fang, inventor of the Raikiri with which he actually cut a lightning once and in total, a legend among the whole Fire country?

Yeah, sure. Good luck with that.

Therefore, you asked your middle man again. This was a joke, right? It had to be one. A bad one, but a joke? Please?

But no, the man shook his head. No joke, he told you, with a solemn face like he already thought about the color of the bouquet he would get for your nameless grave. Someone wanted to see Kakashi Hatake dead. And you should make the impossible happen.

The impossible, indeed. It was almost the first thing spies and assassins of every circle are told when they start their deadly and bloody work. Don’t, under any circumstances, try to kill Kakashi Hatake. Just… don’t even try. He will rip you apart before you even have the chance to point a single knife into his direction.

And now, you were tasked with the assassination of the last Hatake. So many had already failed and you were pretty sure that you would also fail. Sure, you were good, but that good? No. Assassins were trained for the first hit, to kill and run. Shinobi, in comparison, had the endurance and strength to go for longer battles, even though their education was far more versatile than the education of assassins.

In the first few seconds, the assassin’s chance to succeed was the highest, no difference between shinobi and civilian. After that, the rate dropped dramatically through the floor the longer the exchange between the assassin and intended target, and in the case of a shinobi, fought it out. In the end, the shinobi would win, out of sheer stamina, knowledge and home advantage.

You had to make the odds even. Otherwise, you could go right up to Hatake and give him a knife to kill you on the spot. Right there, in the middle of the street. Thus, on the way to Konoha, where your contract was waiting, you planned, plotted and assembled everything you would need for a hopefully, maybe successful job.

 

You had a plan. A weak, unstable plan, but at least it was a plan. On the way towards Konoha, you gathered things. Information, sketches of the big shinobi village, and most importantly, little tools which would help you with your plan. Some worn-out clothes here, a pair of bamboo sandals there, a bag of fruits and vegetables, some stock of dried meat and rice. You would probably stay some time in Konoha after all.

Then, finally after a week of travelling, planning and stocking up, you saw the big, infamous gates of the shinobi village at the horizon. Thank the gods. Finally. In a sense, you were glad the torture of travelling alone on the road was over, but now, the hardest part of the job would begin. The safe infiltration.

You had all the information you needed. Before the guards at the gate had even a chance to spot you, you hid away in the bushes beside the sandy road and started to change into the worn-down farmer-clothes you had bought a few days ago. The dark cloak and the easy-to-move in clothes were quickly hidden away in the backpack, which you concealed with the basket filled with not-as-fresh produce, just as well as the various small knives you always carried with in your high boots and underneath your clothing.

Then, with a determined expression on your face, you dug your hands into the dirt of the forest and smeared the earth over your bare arms, some of it into your hair and face, and to top your façade off, laid down in a nearby bushes and dragged your hair through the thin branches. It hurt, but the result was a pitiful, dirty, homeless-looking farmer who needed shelter and was offering the little material objects she had on this world.

If that would give you safe entry into Konohagakure, home of generous shinobi and charitable people who believed their good deeds would morally rise them above anyone, then you would gladly play the part.

Needless to say, the two clueless and unsuspecting guards ate out of the palm of your hand after hearing the sob story of being a poor, unlucky farmer, the dry summer, the bare fields and the sudden disease which befell all of your animals, only to kill them mercilessly off. You were pretty sure you laid it too thick onto them, but when you finished with a pitiful cough and claimed the dusty road had dried out your throat so much, but the two shinobi were nearly crying and only barely holding in the tears at your faked misfortune.

 

From there on, it was almost ridiculously easy to get a base in Konoha and some kind of small job to “ease the transition into the live in your new home”. One would think the constant attacks and home-wrecking events over the last years (you recalled especially the invasion at the chunin exams vividly, due to the big, three-headed snake being summoned) would make the people more distrusting of newcomers or visitors, but no. Not at all. Everyone who you encountered over the course of the relocation of your “poor, unlucky” ass seemed to be genuinely worried and concerned for your wellbeing. Not one of them seemed to have one concern that you could be someone with sinister and dark intentions.

It was unsettling, to have so many people trust you with so little you did for them.

Step two, gaining a secure footing in Konoha, succeeded. Without you having to do anything, to be exact.

The people did everything for you. Part of a program to care more for the unlucky ones, a nurse at the hospital explained gently when she checked on you, to make sure you had some shots and a general medical check-up. Unsurprisingly, you were in prime condition, a fact the nurse let slip as you started to fake a streak of weakness due to malnourishment, what earned you also an early lunch consisting of some bread and soup.

Step three, finding the Copy ninja and getting to know his routine.

The most important part of every successful assassination. Cold-blooded stalking, a task which would be even more difficult due to the fact that Hatake was probably hyper aware of every change on his normal way. At first, you had to find him in itself. A good starting point would be the Hokage Tower, where the Mission room was located. At some point, he just had to come in to either report to the Hokage or receive a new mission. According to your intel, he was still active, so it shouldn’t be too long.

Conveniently, there was a café on the opposite side of the main entrance of the high building and with a little bit of convincing and lying that you had some experience in serving customers, you were assigned as a waitress to the café. No one questioned your sob story, no one even seemed to think you were something else but a poor, tortured farmer with nothing else but the clothing on your body.

 

From day one, you were busy, trying to establish yourself as a valuable asset to the café. From day one, you were cheerful, made jokes, worked hard, tried to help the ones who needed a pair of extra hands. If there was a problem, you were there, with a smile and a positive attitude the owner soon described as “the sun in my store”.

From the very first day, you also watched the doors to the Hokage Tower with hawk eyes. No shinobi went in or out of the building without your knowledge. Needless to say, that you always tried to cover the tables outside of the café, what made watching the door even easier.

Despite all the efforts, despite all the hard work you did to take your mind off things, despite the intent watching and knowing he would eventually show up, you nearly collapsed on the spot from the sheer relief when you finally spotted the infamous silver hair color and the slouched body, nose buried in a bright green book and giggling to himself, all the while you froze while trying to remember if the old lady wanted her green tea hot or cold.

It had been a godless _month_ of serving entitled people, annoying brats who tried to grab at your clothes and old men with perverted leers down your long legs, which were only accentuated by the skirt barely covering your thighs. You were sick of customer service at this point. Some were alright, but unfortunately, the bad, uncomfortable and disgusting situations just got stuck to your brain and wouldn’t let go.

 _Thank god, he finally showed up._ Your keen eyes followed the figure strolling past, just a few meters away from you. For the first time, you could inspect your target closely. Close enough to notice he was extremely wary of his surroundings, even though he appeared to be intently reading. There was a grace in his motions, some kind of deadly tone lying underneath every silent step, like a wolf pacing through his well-known territory and inspecting the lesser animals around him. Begrudgingly, you had to give the reports a point. Kakashi Hatake was still dangerous, at an age lesser shinobi would’ve long retired.

Hell, lesser shinobi died at a younger age, and assassins died even sooner than that.

Ninjas had escort missions, carried documents or protected important clients. Assassins had only murder, homicide and kills and failure meant certain death for the young, hasty and unprepared ones.

Well… Certainly, the reports left out the effect he had on the female population on Konoha. As you turned away from the table you served, you watched at least five women of wildly differing age swoon and giggle among themselves, all of their eyes greedily fixed on the shinobi passing by, probably hyper aware of the attention he received.

 

Once more, you looked around, noted the stares and their direction, only to look back at the slowly walking shinobi. Another thing the reports didn’t mention. His ass was a sight to see. And the lonely wives, hopeful maidens and current widows seemed to be of the same opinion, measured at their fascination with his backside.

Mentally, you tried to remember the entire myriad of reports. You didn’t remember a section with his sexuality or preferences, any kind of sexual fantasies or such, but usually, there had to be something. Usually, there was always something jotted down in the reports, even a tiny bit of information, as weird as it seemed to some people, could help to eliminate a target.

But no, there was nothing in the reports. You checked twice, once going through them in your head when you followed him home (an uneventful walk for him and a tense, nerve-wracking life-or-death mission) and once when you were back in your comically small flat with the paper-thin walls again.

Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.

You threw yourself into the blankets, pouting and grumbling silently. “I shouldn’t have taken that contract, I really shouldn’t have. That’s exactly the reason why assassins don’t deal with shinobi. Not enough information, not enough material to work with. Hell,” you turned onto your back and growled weakly at the ceiling, cobwebs in every corner of the room, “if I just had the right info. The one and only info I need to completely unravel that man. Then this job would be as smooth as butter.”

But at first, you had to observe him as closely as you could. Be his shadow, stick to his side like a goddamn gum and find out his favorite restaurant, the favorite place to laze around, the people he knows and cherishes, all of that stuff.

Step three point one, commencing with the observation.

But, as it turned out, this time the assassin didn’t have to come to the target, the target came willingly to the assassin, without you being in the immediate need to lift a finger.

 

The very next day, you were still planning how to properly approach the entire operation on a basic level, you heard a voice behind you as you were bent over an outside table and tried to wipe an encrusted rest of an unidentified sauce off the surface, with little to no visible result coming from your efforts.

“Excuse me, is there still a table available?”

Inwardly, you were already fuming a bit when you spun around to politely remind the customer that there were opening times. No one was in yet. The café didn’t even open officially, you were still in the middle of-!

You froze just when you wanted to speak up, basically with the typical customer-smile plastered to your face. Kakashi Hatake, in the flesh. The hair was unmistakable. Smiling underneath his mask, hands stuffed into the pockets of his shinobi pants, the bulky uniform not hiding one bit the wide shoulders or the fit frame of his body.

You couldn’t believe your luck. This was a once-in-a-lifetime occasion; your target walking up to you and basically willingly step into the devil’s den. Another thing an assassin should be able to pull off without a hitch was quick thinking and quick redistribution of plans. This was perfect.

“Excuse me, dear shinobi,” secretly, you were dancing around, happy you could soon burn this waitress uniform on a pyre, “but we aren’t open yet. Only a few more minutes, though, then I can help you select something from our card.”

Kakashi nodded weakly. “Very well. I will wait over there.” He gestured over to a corner of the patio, while you still couldn’t believe your luck. As quickly as possible, like raw lightning zapped through your body and fueled your very being, you wiped over the tables and set up the chairs, all the while Kakashi waited in the already mentioned corner.

He watched you, intently and closely, the dark eye never leaving your body. The other was still covered, and you were grateful you didn’t have to encounter the infamous Sharingan directly. And if your hastily formed plan would work properly, then you never would have to face it directly.

Like you inspected your work one last time, you looked over the tables, before grabbing the notepad hanging at your hip and the pencil. “Alright,” the rim of your skirt revealed more of your legs as you turned around, and with grim satisfaction you saw how his single, dark eye twitched into that direction, “You can sit down now. Give me just a second, I will bring you the menu right-!”

“Green tea would be nice. No sugar, please.”

 

Green tea. Your mind howled as it could taste the success. Perfect. Like he was out to get murdered! Eagerly, you scribbled the order down and watched out of the corner of your vision how the man silently pulled out a chair for himself and sat down, as quietly as a cat taking its place in its favorite spot. The naturally bitter green tea would mask wonderfully the poison you had in mind for him. Something which would kill him in the matter of seconds, with the slight taste of nuts, before death would greet him with wide, open arms. And like the gods smiled on you today and granted you all of your dark, secret, assassin wishes, no one but the old and nearly blind cook was that early in.

Like that, you could easily slip inside the kitchen. Like that, you could easily pull the full, steaming cup aside. Like that, you could give a small portion of the poison you always had at hand into the green tea. A few drops, nothing else, and the white powder disintegrated in the beverage. Even faster when you shortly used a teaspoon to disperse the poison further, until nothing was left.

One testing whiff at the cup, and you nodded. Yes, still the same smell. Like usual. Like always. Proud of your handiwork, you walked back onto the patio. It was still empty except for your only customer, his nose buried in a book and otherwise not acknowledging you as you came closer to him.

“A green tea for you.” You placed the cup on the table, careful not to spill a single, deadly drop. “I hope you enjoy it. It’s a great day today. A great day for a good green tea.”

Finally, Kakashi looked up. With a low snap, he shut his book, carefully placed it back in one of the many pockets of his vest and looked with creased eyes up to you.

“Yes,” he said, “indeed. A very good day. And with a green tea from this café,” he reached over and deliberately careful cupped the spiked tea with his hands, “it will be a day to die for.”

In any other case, with any other target, in any other situation than this one, you would’ve taken his strange choice of words as a weird and strangely comically coincidence. But not with a shinobi, not with this shinobi. Not with Kakashi Hatake.

For a second, you froze in your place, hands twitching to grab the knife you had strapped to your thigh and just push it into his annoyingly masked neck. Did he just really…?

Hatake winked at you, hand with the teacup still hanging in the air between his mouth and table, and that was the moment you truly realized you failed. Fear took a hold of your heart, squeezed it with the cold realization you failed.

_Mission failed. Organize retreat and new formation, prepare for a coordinated flight._

Even though the cold sweat of panic started to run down your back, you maintained your customer-service smile. With a nod, you turned away from the table, knowing from the very first second you spotted him that your disguise had been seen through and the only reason why he was sitting right now in your back was to see what you were trying to do. Now, he had his answer.

 

You were painfully aware of his eye in your back as you walked casually back into the café. As soon as you believed to be safe, you bolted. With flying hands, you untied the apron and threw it onto the counter, not caring for the weak protests the manager of the place let out as he watched you frantically searching for your stuff.

“I can’t do this!” you sobbed, and didn’t have to try hard to summon some tears. “I can’t take this, this abuse, this treatment! I quit!”

You didn’t look back when you ran away. Not one glance over your shoulder as you walked quickly through the streets of Konohagakure, this unknown, loud, strange territory.

_A stupid mistake. Stupid, stupid mistake. I should’ve known, I fucking should’ve known!_

_Poisoning a shinobi? Please. He probably smelled it as soon as I came out with the tea._

_Too rash, too hasty. That was always my mistake._

_What are my options now? Now, that he discovered me?_

Flight was the first and honestly, also the most tempting option. It would mean to abandon this contract, pack your sparse bag and get the hell out of this village in a matter of fifteen minutes, tops. Just abandon everything, put the hours you already put into this contract to waste and find and tell your customer eye to eye that he could shove this contract right up his ass.

Option two, in comparison… Was definitely more dangerous. Stay in Konoha, hide for a few days, wait out the consequences of your assassination attempt, and make a new plan.

You shook your head. Definitely too dangerous. Your target was alerted and wouldn’t give up his defense easily, now that he was sure.

But…

_But…_

Your instructor always told you that you had one deadly character trait which would probably kill you one day. As an assassin, pride didn’t get you anywhere. Pride was a hindrance, a painful obstacle you either lose over the years, or it inflates your ego so much that you stumble over it and break your neck. Pride made an assassin sloppy, too secure in his skills, too stubborn and too steadfast in your actions. Pride in your skills and record of successfully fulfilled missions made you accept this impossible contract in the first place, and now, your pride screamed up at the mere thought of leaving.

 

Damn, alone for this stupid dance he did today, you wanted to kill Hatake. You wanted to kill him, in the most painful and quick way you could manage. You wanted to look into his eyes while you did it, just to show that you were better and didn’t care about his superior strength and jutsu. Yes, pride would be your downfall one day. But that downfall wouldn’t come today, you would make sure of it.

Your small flat came into view. Instead of passing by and running away, you deliberately opened the door and climbed the steep and creaky stairs upwards, the fury against the shinobi boiling in your stomach with the force and bite of acid. So, Hatake wanted to play this game dirty? Great. Fine with you. Time to play dirty yourself, then.

As you packed up the little stuff you had dispersed in the small room, your emotions were still boiling. Hasty motions, tugging at clothes and shoving them roughly into your backpack, muttered curses, more shuffling and shoving. You allowed yourself to curse, to let the anger and embarrassment of being caught like a newbie with blood on his knife and still standing over the corpse of his target out. That was healthy and cleared your head, more than any meditation techniques ever would be able to. When you packed everything up and looked around the room, you already felt a bit better. Not as heavy as before, not filled to the brim with anger which locked your jaw into place. Now, you were able to plan. And you already started to plan, just when you took the first step outside onto the streets of Konoha in search for another roof over your head.

This wouldn’t be the last of you Hatake had seen. But you would be the last thing he would see, and you couldn’t wait to experience that moment.

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

You still held onto the disguises as you started to follow Hatake around, like your original plan intended. They would be your best bet in order to surprise and overthrow the shinobi, even though he was warned now. You still could use this to your advantage, by turning his attention into one direction, but giving him the death sentence from a totally different angle. The only question which opened up was, what would be his death sentence? A deadly dagger into his kidney? Another attempt at poisoning? A swift strike though his neck, severing his damn aorta and watching how the blood would spurt out of him in a wide arc?

Maybe the grudge you were holding against Hatake was the tiniest bit personal.

But it was legitimate! He de-masked you not even five minutes into your first attempt to kill him! That had never happened before! Not even when you had go undercover into the court of the Daimyo to kill one of his corrupt ministers. You had even fooled his harem of concubines, goddammit, a nest of ugly fights and concurrence of beauty and nasty behavior to one another, only to kill the fat old fart in cold blood when he was snoring in his bed.

No, you wouldn’t give up this contract. There was a way to kill Hatake, you just hadn’t found it yet. Thus, the spying, sneaking and secret hiding around Konoha, this time completely staying in the shadows and not even attempting to get close enough to the target. Hanging out in trees, sitting on thick branches and wearing a combination of old, torn clothes, brown paint and green leaves to melt as much into the background as possible.

So much fun.

Your safe base was now outside of Konoha, a small tent in the middle of the forest, with all of your little possessions hidden away as much as you could. With the paperwork you received with your perceived “situation”, you could just enter Konoha through the front gates and go out every evening, without any questions asked, even though the guards would inspect you with some kind of hesitant suspicion. (You had started to drop hints that inside the village “everything reminds me of my family”, “It’s so loud and crowded”, “I just can’t sleep at night”, and they seemed to get the gist of what you were hinting.)

 

You were following around Hatake now on a daily basis, over the course of a week. And damn, his daily life was boring. Early in the morning, mostly around four or five, he would get up, get dressed and jump out of the window of his apartment complex. His goal was the graveyard, where he would clean three graves almost with religious diligence, before standing there like a tree himself and… doing nothing. He just stared at the graves until the sun rose, before making his way over to a training field, where another stone with engraved names waited. Another one or two hours of waiting on your part and staring blindly at the stone on his, then he would start to train on the training field.

Needless to say, you were a bit impressed to watch Hatake train. His nin-jutsu was definitely extraordinary; big, flashy and powerful. When you watched him perform his special creation, the Raikiri, you could feel and smell the ozone even from your higher vantage point, which was at least twenty meters away. The air seemed to tighten, Hatake and his hand full of lightning as the eye of the storm, while you clenched your teeth. The hair on your arms and legs stood up from the overall tension. Your ears rang from the high chirping, sounding indeed like a swarm of birds, just like the reports described.

You were always thankful when he stopped his nin-jutsu training and went over to physical exercises. First of all, you were able to relax in your tree again and didn’t have to worry to be accidentally lit on fire by a stray fireball or paralyzed by lightning. And second, the point which annoyed you the most in all of this, was that Hatake would lose his thick, bulky shinobi vest.

Yes, you weren’t proud of yourself. Yes, it was definitely a shame you felt yourself growing hot whenever that part of his training routine started. And yes, you still didn’t look away when Hatake started doing push-ups. Or practiced his kata. Or summoned a shadow clone and went through a mock fight. Sometimes, he would use the very edge of his sweatshirt with his mask attached to it to wipe away some sweat off his forehead, showing off the tiniest sliver of pale, muscled skin of his stomach. The first time he did that, you actually gasped, only to quickly silence yourself by covering your mouth.

You were actually pretty sure Hatake heard that. He stopped every single movement, froze into place. Desperately, you bit into your hand and tugged yourself deeper into the thankfully thick bushes of leaves, hoping it would be enough to cover your body from his piercing eye. Seconds turned into minutes, until the man dropped his stance and continued his training, but from there on, he seemed to be even more aware he was watched. Ever so often, Hatake would do the same, teasing gesture, like he knew you (or someone else) was watching. And unfortunately, the gesture never lost any of its effect on you and you hated yourself for that particular weakness.

But it wasn’t the first time an assassin got the hots for her target, and you certainly wouldn’t be the last. This little inconvenience wouldn’t stop you. In fact, you were more determined than ever to kill this teasing asshole with your own two hands.

 

While you watched him, you noticed a few things. First, Hatake had a pretty regulated and strict schedule if he wasn’t on a mission. He had a few places he visited on a regular base (the graveyard every morning for several hours, the training fields, also for several hours, and a special small bookstore he visited every second day to flip through the erotica-niche of the shop). Second, if any other meeting would come up, an appointment at the hospital for example, Hatake would do everything to come in at least one hour late, not caring about the annoyed glares he received when he finally arrived where he was supposed to be. Third, he had dogs. A whole pack of them. Fourth and probably the most interesting, he had nightmares. Frequently. You discovered that particular detail after you decided to stay even the night in your position high up in the trees, with stiff bones and joints and a hurting neck when you finally fell into a light sleep. He woke up with a startled gasp, and you, only halfway asleep, also opened your eyes.

Hatake didn’t cry. He didn’t move for a few seconds, only stared at his fingers, which shook heavily. You could see the tremble even from your tree a few meters away from the window. Conveniently, the curtains weren’t closed. You suspected Hatake just wanted to be a major, cocky asshole at this point and show off how much he didn’t care if someone was watching him.

No, instead of crying or frantically scrambling out of his sheets, Hatake stood calmly up, dropped straight to the ground and started to do push-ups in a confusingly fast rhythm. Up and down, up and down, up, down, fast and demanding his muscles to move even faster.

You grimaced. Another danger of spying on a person too much. Sooner or later, you would find out something about your target which would make killing him or her a little bit harder. These nightmares were no stranger to you as well. That was another side effect of making a living out of killing people. There were mistakes bound to happen. Some casualties, a wrong step at the wrong time, someone taking a turn when they weren’t supposed to turn and seeing something they weren’t supposed to see. Happened all the time.

Mistakes had to be fixed, witnesses had to be taken out to avoid a mess, and you moved on. Unfortunately, sometimes the witnesses were a little bit too young to not bother your consciousness. It had happened and you regretted these few times, but your job would always come first and your morals second.

Seemed like Hatake had a similar moral like you did. And maybe… No, for certain, these few times he had to act against his own consciousness and beliefs weighed heavily on his mind.

 

Over the weeks you watched him (and at some point, you were sure he allowed you to watch, no matter how stealthy you tried to be and avoid his attention with various disguises), you couldn’t help but to come to _like_ him. In a weird limbo state of “his arrogance is pissing me off so much I want to grit my teeth until they are nothing more than useless stumps, but he’s an infamous shinobi and kind of earned this arrogance, so I kind of understand, but he also seemed like a good guy, had some strange quirks and similarities we share, and on top of that, he was pretty hot, dammit”. And that, you knew it, was a big problem, with a capital ‘P’.

An assassin coming to like the target he or she was supposed to kill? That wasn’t part of the contract and would never be, because _feelings_ (you grimaced when the sickly-sweet taste of something hopeful laid on your tongue) got in the way of the contract. It was dangerous, could get your face known at best and working as an assassin impossible, and could you get killed when worst came to worst.

These… These soft _feelings_ you caught were a danger for your occupancy. Hatake was still your target, his head still up for cutting off and on his back was still a big, fat, red target. A target you were supposed to hit.

There was only one option you had left. One option to keep your thoughts straight, to keep working at what you were good at, what was your life until now. Kill Kakashi as fast as possible. One attack, with all of your skills and wits and tricks you could come up with. Maybe, _hopefully_ , the end of Hatake’s life would end this damn softness you felt permeating every bone and every cell of your heart.

He was anticipating you coming for him. He would see any attack from a mile away, no matter what you would try to do. That much you could tell, after weeks of following him around and suspecting him knowing that you were following him like a pesky cat he had fed one too many times.

Lower minds and less experienced assassins wouldn’t use any disguises at this point. They would go for a last, grand, totally futile and ineffective out-in-the-open attack. Going straight for the prize or dying for the sake of it. But you wanted to live, even when your attempt would fail, thus, you would continue to stick with a disguise to not alarm anyone else but Hatake of your intentions.

 

Yes, he was very aware of your presence. Yes, he saw through your first disguise like it was nothing. And yes, killing him without a working cover, without the anonymity and the element of surprise would be even harder than it was to kill an ordinary shinobi, but it only meant you had to work harder than ever before to finally tell your contractor that you finished the job.

Step four, hatching a new strategy and setting up Step five, the assassination.

The long weeks of observation came in handy when you planned your new attempt on taking Hatake’s life. His favorite bookshop was in need of a new pair of hands to clean the shop, sell the books and do the inventory. Just a part-time position, but it would be enough to get close to your target without immediately alerting him out of his mind. Yes, you would still disguise yourself, but with a cover you had never tried before and certainly never believed to ever pick up.

The disgraced assassin who had no other place to go and tried to live a normal life from now on.

The thing was, no matter what you would do, Hatake would always think you were up to something. But if you played the long game, you could maybe lull him into a relative state of acceptance around you and that would be the moment when you would strike. For all the other people, you would be a poor victim trying to find a new place to live in peace, and for Hatake, you would be a suspicious assassin who gave up and tried to move on. You could use this cover until he felt safe enough to not be watching you with hawk eyes any longer, get closer to him, make some friendly chit-chat, humor him for a little while longer, until his suspicions were at the lowest level it would ever be with you, and then you had to open a window for an opportunity to kill him.

Getting the job was fairly easy. You just had to tell your made-up background sob story to the shopkeeper, an older woman with lots of deep wrinkles and darker spots of age covering her shaky hands, and you were hired. The only thing you had to do from there on was to wait and make sure one of your shifts was perfectly aligned with the set time Hatake always visited the bookstore. This time, there was no mud caking your face to hide your features, no wig to hide your hair, no obtrusive clothes to cover up your unusually trained and deadly body. Just _you_ , painfully unprotected and out in the open. No curtains or lies to hide behind. In a sense, you were the most ‘ _you’_ you had ever been, and that made you feel…

Feel strange. Just utterly, incompletely, incomprehensibly strange. The last time when you just had been yourself was such a long time ago, that you mulled over that question for an entire day, before coming to the conclusion that you couldn’t even remember. Disguises had been a part of your life for as long as you could remember.

 

You were ripped out of your thoughts when the small bell at the door went off, chiming sweetly and resounding still through the whole store. Looking up from the cash register, your stomach dropped and tightened, seeing who exactly stepped inside the neatly cleaned and organized shop and looked around, the single eye alight with a strange kind of surprise when it fell on you.

“Welcome,” you said and allowed yourself to smile a real smile, when Hatake fully entered the room, “A good day, isn’t it?”

“Indeed.” His voice didn’t betray one bit what he was thinking.

“Are you searching for something in particular?” you asked and tried not to hiss or growl at him when the damn bastard smiled beneath his mask, small curls and wrinkles in the skin tight fabric.

“Oh no, I’m just browsing. Where’s Oba-sama?”

“She left the store to me while she’s visiting the doctor. Her hip is troubling her again.”

“I see.” Hatake really started pacing through the rows of shelves, while you went back to slowly count the current cash in the register. He was watching you. You could feel his stare burning on your skin, trying to assess your intentions and read your thoughts.

The shop was shaped in the form of a long, stretched-out square, with smaller alcoves with different book genres at the opposite side of the long storefront, displaying all kinds of new and old books and scrolls. The cash register was lying right beside the entrance and at the same time, only exit, and could oversee the entire store without any problems, with the exception of the alcoves, of course. At the same time, every customer could see the cash register and step up to the worker manning the counter to ask questions.

Perfect for Hatake to browse indeed through the store and watch you.

True to your disguise as a disgraced assassin, you continued to ignore him, calmly counting the cash and then going over to read through a book about historically important assassinations of the last three decades. A subtle hint, showing how much you didn’t care that he was watching you.

“Is it any good?” His low voice easily carried over, even when several meters of dusty air and book-filled shelves parted you two. He gestured towards the book on the counter, splayed open, page and sentence secured with your index finger and thumb. “The title sounds pretty dull to me.”

_Trying to get a rise out of me, huh?_

His voice still startled you. With weak sigh, you fully closed the book, before trying to find the shinobi in the forest of shelves. “How did you come to that opinion? Is the title _Murder throughout the years_ not captivating enough?”

“It’s more about normal assassins, not about shinobi-assassinations, right? As a shinobi myself, I have to say that the threat of such an assassin doesn’t phase me, nor the appeal of them.”

You gritted your teeth. “Well, as a lowly civilian myself, I think it’s pretty interesting how people without the use of chakra attempt to take on the oh so mighty and powerful shinobi. You have to be creative and innovative, not to talk about smart and plan ahead.”

“And what happens when such an assassin still fails? Despite all the creativity and planning? Is that also in the book?”

 

There. A sliver of his dirty-green uniform blinked through the shelves in the far back of the store. Quickly, you subdued the blossoming anger in your heart and tried to concentrate on the little cat-and-mouse game you two played.

“They retire,” you choked out, “Either forcefully by another assassin’s hand, or by going underground. Apparently, there’s no in between, no exceptions when their identity is found out or their contract isn’t fulfilled after a certain time limit.”

“Sounds like a harsh life.”

“It is what it is.” It had been your life for years and until now, you didn’t need to think about what would happen if the unlikely case of you failing a contract would come true. But Hatake not only forced you to abandon all your disguises, but also forced you to face the chance of failure and thus, your own death. One breath in, pushing the sudden nervousness out of your tightening lungs, before bringing an obviously, painful smile to your face. “But what good does it bring to think about it? Neither of us is like an assassin in this book. Ergo, it’s no use to think about it. Do you have any questions, dear shinobi?”

Kakashi’s grey hair appeared close to the alcove filled with sappy romance stories, most of them clothed into brightly colored pictures of shinobi with sliced clothing holding onto their lovers with their dear life, all the while a kunai was lodged between their teeth. “No, not really. But if you could tell me what’s new in the shelves, then I would be delighted.”

He knew that you knew that he had looked past the first layer of your disguise. The new part-time shopkeeper with a fable for ominous, creepy literature. But you weren’t entirely sure if the man hadn’t already seen through the second layer, the mask of the failed assassin who tried to turn a new leaf. Because if he did, then you could only play into his hands and that was a scenario you didn’t want to think about at all costs.

With a wide and hopefully honest smile, you crossed the distance between Hatake and yourself, mouth already running off to talk about the freshly released books which stood prominently in the shelves, covers shining in the sunlight and the scent of pages and ink surrounding you. All the while, his eyes were intently fixated on your figure, on the movements of your hands and every possible nook and cranny where you could have hidden some small weapons. Joke was on him though. You hadn’t even brought a single needle with you to the bookstore nor the small collection of lethal and non-lethal poison you usually would bring to be as versatile and spontaneous as possible. To avoid getting itchy and attacking Hatake before he was due.

 

When you were finished rattling down the titles, the shinobi was looking openly at you. He didn’t even try to hide the measuring and searching for answers in his eyes as he stared at your calmly folded arms, the relaxed posture, the calm, collected attitude.

“Is there something else I can help you with, dear shinobi?” you asked and the small, smug smile curling your lips the tiniest bits upwards let Hatake’s raise his eyebrows. “I remember quite vividly a book Oba-sama set aside for a regular. A special edition of _Icha-Icha,_ including four never released scenes, new cover art, concept art and a signed bookmark. Are you possibly Hatake Kakashi?”

“Yes. Yes indeed. I ordered it a few weeks ago.”

“Alright! I have it underneath the counter,” you gestured towards the front of the shop, “so, if you find any other book you want to buy, just bring it with you towards the front and I will add it to your purchase. Is that alright with you?”

Without a word, the man nodded. His eyes never left your face and your smile widened by a margin, almost on instinct. Oh yes, he definitely knew something was up and tried to make sense of your sudden change of approach. Wary and on edge, Hatake turned again towards the alcove with the cheesy romance novels, gave you another glance, only to fully sink himself into the books in question.

_Hah! Yeah, how does that feel? Constantly thinking and turning things over and over in your head? How does your own medicine taste?_

While you waited for Hatake to finish his trip around the bookshop, you continued to organize and clean the counter properly. Your fingers were itching for a sharp blade or a bottle of poison. For anything which could possibly end Hatake’s life right here, right now. But instead, you could only wipe down the register for the tenth time today, while you tried to pick up any sound coming from the man.

Like your thoughts called him, he stepped out of the alcove, as silent and wary as a wolf who smelled danger. His single eye immediately jumped to you, not even caring about any kind of masquerade or decency. At his stare, you smiled only. Eyes squinted the tiniest bit, the corners of your lips twitched upwards and you cocked your head by a few angles to the side, making sure the shinobi was aware that you knew he looked through your “disguise”, and that you didn’t care. At all.

“Good choice!” you exclaimed, as Hatake plopped a little pile of books down on the counter, “Especially this one!” You pointed at a pretty popular penny dreadful. Maybe on instinct, the man placed his hand on the pile, before realizing what he was doing and lowered his fingers back to his side.

Your smile widened, now clearly enjoying his anxiety way too much. “And before I forget…” Quickly, you reached underneath the counter. Far quicker than any other bookshop-worker ever would move, quicker than it was better for the frail, stressed nerves of an elite-jonin. And Hatake, poor, _poor_ Hatake reacted.

 

The movement was faster than you could even comprehend it. One second, his hand was twitching towards his thigh, the next, the metal of a kunai blinked between his fingers. With a wide, exaggerated motion, you settled his pre-ordered book down on the counter, still smiling brightly and oh, so innocently at the shinobi.

“Here it is! I said so, didn’t I?” You didn’t bat one eyelid at the weapon threatening your health and security. You just ignored it, ignored the kunai, ignored the doubt glinting in his eye, ignored the slow lowering of his hand and weapon as you just calmly presented the harmless book to him. “That your order was beneath the counter? Dear shinobi?”

Like he tried to convince himself everything was alright, Hatake nodded slowly, eyes never leaving your empty hands. “Yeah…” he finally mumbled, before reaching into his vest to scramble for some bills, “Yeah. It’s just… I forgot for a moment.”

“Oh, that happens all the time. No worries!”

It was mean. Yes, it was, to play into the frail nerves of the nervous shinobi, but it was definitely worth it to see Hatake a bit distraught and uprooted. Just for the weeks of running after him and for him knowingly teasing you with his stupid training and his stupid, stupid gestures and body and mask-!

Yes, he deserved it. Deserved every second of that sick nervousness as he quickly took the bag with books and walked briskly out of the store, without reacting to the overly happy “Glad to be of service!” you shouted after him. After the door closed with a satisfying ‘smack’, you allowed your smile to turn dark, like a cat already seeing the nest of mice ready to be plundered.

_The game is on, Hatake. Show me what you got._

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

The slow and long game was really on for the next few weeks, with emphasis on the words “slow” and “long”. In total contradiction to the earlier carefully researched plans, Kakashi entered the bookstore now on a daily base. He tended to stroll through the rows of shelves and books, while you were busy helping other customers, swept the floors or wiped down the counter, all the while being hyperaware of his presence and eyes following you around. He did nothing but stare. Stare and watch how you tried to live your life, as normal as you could only act.

Sometimes, when the store was empty, he would continue to linger and give up every pretense of acting like he was just “looking around”.

Exactly thirteen days after Hatake found out about your new job, you decided to take another step forward.

“I can hear your thoughts, shinobi.”

You glanced upwards, only to see Hatake nearly dropping a book he had previously picked up. Only thanks to his fast reflexes, he was able to catch it and not crinkle a single, lily-white page. He tried to look nonchalant as always as he carefully placed the book again on its stand, all the while his voice rang through the air. “My thoughts? I doubt that.”

“Oh, but I can.” A look at the pages of your own book, and you closed it with a little flick of your wrist. “You’re asking yourself why I’m still here and what am I doing, in Konoha and this bookshop. After the first try to kill you and weeks of following you around without any results, any other assassin would give up, am I right?”

The air grew thicker with every second. It became hard to breath and if you weren’t mistaken, the faint scent of ozone and lightning started to gather in the room, curling right below the ceiling.

“Touché,” he said. “These are really nearly all of my thoughts.”

“Comes with the job. Some intuition, some educated guessing.”

“Is it really educated guessing or sheer knowledge?”

“I like the term ‘educated guessing’ too much to give it up.”

“Aaah.” He breathed out, a mix between snort and sigh. “Then, allow me one question.”

You placed your elbows on the counter, chin shored in one hand and the other drumming in a low, soothing rhythm on the wood. “Go ahead.”

 

Hatake looked you dead in the eyes, seriousness and almost _killing intent_ radiating from him. “Are you still trying to kill me? Or did your target change?”

_Oh. Well, that was something I seriously didn’t expect._

“I don’t know,” you avoided to look at him, “Would you let me kill you? Because that’s possibly the only chance I have to actually come close to fulfil my contract.”

If possible, his aura grew even darker. “Quit avoiding the question. I need to know if you’re a danger for Konohagakure and if I need to terminate you.”

But you still continued to string him along, not wanting to stop and knowing that you had to keep your play up to make your mask as convincing as possible. “I’m telling the truth though. You would’ve had to let me kill you in order for me to be successful. Nothing else.”

You wanted to say more, joke more, in the same light undertone which told everyone around that you didn’t take his threats seriously, but before you could do anymore of that, a kunai was embedded right beside your hand. Belonging to the furiously-calm shinobi, who stood now face to face with you. His breath fawned in short waves over your features, just as much as his body scent of cedar wood, dog hair and weapon oil.

“I’m not asking a third time,” he whispered, “and I’m tired of not being able to go into my favorite bookshop without asking myself if I have to expect another poisoned tea or physical attack. So, one last time before I decide what to do with you. Are you still trying to kill me?”

So close to Hatake _(perfect distance for a surprise attack… Or a surprise kiss, followed by an attack),_ you had trouble to concentrate. Real, big problems. A cold shiver travelled down your spine, turned your insides into ice and snow, but you managed to keep a straight face and not hiss at him like a wounded cat.

“And I’m stating it for the third time, because it seems you don’t want to understand. I would only kill you when you would let me, and that isn’t likely to happen, isn’t it? Thus, my contract will expire and as this is my first failed contract, I have to evaluate my choices further.” You flicked against the metal of the kunai as you spun your web of half-baked lies further. “Can I continue my occupation after this? Should I? I mean, people will come to an assassin with a 100 percent success rate, not to an assassin who boasted about being able to do what no other assassin did before and failed.”

“You boasted about being able to kill me?”

 

“I accepted the contract, fully knowing it would be impossible. It’s as close to boasting as I could get.” You calmly stated. Then, you shrugged and closed your eyes, turning away from him like you weren’t the tiniest bit affected by the scent and closeness. A negative, fluttering kind of affection. “Anyway, you can take what you want from that, Hatake. From now on, I’m just trying to live my life and find out what the hell I’m going to do with it when I’m not ending others. On top of that, you’re just as safe as before from any attempts from me coming for _your_ life. Like there was ever any kind of danger to it…”

When you opened your eyes again, you found Hatake staring at you. Intensely, like he tried to read your soul. Thankfully, he kept his sharingan hidden, otherwise you would’ve probably thrown all the careful planning and enduring of the circumstances away and ran right into the opposite direction, far, far away. Right now, you could just hope he wouldn’t look right through you, didn’t look too closely, didn’t see how a sliver of sweat vanished in the neckline of your shirt.

Lying to Hatake while he was a few feet away was easy. Lying to Hatake right into the face quite _literally_ was much harder. Much, much harder. Especially if he put on his façade of the battle-hardened, war-proven, blood-bathing jonin who would move hell and heaven to find out what exactly you were up to.

After a few more minutes of glaring at you, Hatake backed slightly off, but was still close enough to make you nervous. Nervous out of an entirely different reason than the interrogation that had taken place. Had he always been so tall and lithe? Not even the bulky uniform could completely hide that Hatake was obviously fit and strong, nor the interesting coloring of his hair and the scar over his other eye you had only seen during the training you spied on. His try to intimidate you heightened only the appeal of the man, something you didn’t like to admit the slightest bit.

That was probably why his next offer confused you so much.

“I’m not convinced,” with a quick motion, he loosened the kunai and only left behind a slight dent in the wood of the counter, “that you won’t harm anyone else. But I also can’t shove aside your explanation either. When the shop closes, I will meet you here again to evaluate your reasoning further.”

Before you could do so much but protest against his unreasonable demand, Hatake gave you a warning glare and stalked out of the store. He didn’t even take a single book with him, which maybe told even more about his distress and confusion about your reasoning than anything else. Usually, he would at least get two or three of the cheap, incredibly cheesy ones, but not today.

Not today. You smiled to yourself. And he wanted to meet you, to “evaluate your reasoning”. A perfect opportunity. For whatever you were in the mood.

_Wait, what? No! It’s to deepen my lies and prove them as real to him, not to… not to parade around and play “date” with him._

And still. And _still_ , you couldn’t shake off the little smile tugging at the corners of your mouth the whole day, no matter how many boxes of heavy books you had to carry around and no matter how much dust sailed from the upmost shelves into your face and made you sneeze. Even the customer interactions weren’t as straining and mentally exhausting as before. After the café-incident, you swore off of customer service, but the people coming into the small corner-bookstore were totally different than the customers of the café.

Maybe it was because they didn’t try to leer beneath a short skirt.

 

Or was it because they valued you more than the customers back at the café did? Certainly, you never knew helping someone find the right book and see them strutting out of the store could fill you with so much easy satisfaction. Just like a clean, secret kill in an open street. It was the feeling of a well-done job, but you wouldn’t have believed to find the same kind of satisfaction here, in Konoha, in a _bookstore._ No blood involved.

It was also pretty nice to know your customers wouldn’t try to swindle you out of your money by trying to kill you (that had happened more than once, more times than you could count, actually). The utmost you had experienced until now was a woman who tried to lowball you on some books she wanted to sell to the bookstore. That was the only exception from the rule, and thus, you actually came to _like_ the small, dusty bookstore and its customer base.

Well, one in particular and that interest was more of a professional nature, of course.

_Sure, try to tell yourself that._

You grit your teeth as you closed the shop after a last sweep and one last check around the premises. The keys jingled weekly in your hand as you turned around, towards the previously full street. Now, in the evening, the always busy crowd thinned out a little, making space for some nightly activity. A nearby bar had opened their doors wide, letting out the warmth and smell of too many people in too small a space. Music spilled onto the street and while you checked on last time if you had properly locked the entrance to the bookstore, you could hear and feel how someone stepped closer.

Kakashi. His scent drifted over and when you turned around, you at least tried to look surprised, like you hadn’t noticed his arrival at all. “Oh! Gods, Hatake!”

The man smiled thinly. “That’s my name, or so I heard.”

“Smartass.” Your heart trembled in your chest. Hatake was simply too close, stood right in front of you, barely half a meter away. You allowed the keys to the store to slip inside the pocket of your pants, before crossing your arms over your chest and outing up the best, arrogant façade you had. “Well, here I am. What’s your plan to get to know my darkest and deepest thoughts?”

“Avoid your sarcasm and dinner.”

You probably misheard something. “…What?”

The jonin nodded. “Dinner. I’m hungry, my team ran me ragged today.”

“The children? Ran _you_ ragged?”

“You say it like that isn’t supposed to happen.”

 

With a click, of your tongue, you gestured vaguely towards him. “Uhm, let’s think for a moment? You, the copy ninja, user of a thousand jutsu, wielder of the Sharingan even though you aren’t blood-related to the Uchiha, let some mere children walk over you?”

He gave you one of the most exasperated and at the same time, amused glances you ever received. “If you would know them personally, you wouldn’t talk like that.”

“Nah, me and children? Not a good choice.”

Throughout the banter and small talk, Kakashi had started to walk away, and as captured as you were, you followed and finally matched his pace. Side by side, you walked through the streets of Konoha, chattering and talking, your hands hanging loosely by your side and his buried in the pockets of his pants.

Terrifyingly easy, that was what it was. Until you realized that you actually _enjoyed_ the conversation with your target, you made it halfway across Konoha and you caught yourself talking about the reason why you incidentally became an assassin. Not that it was a particular happy story, but Kakashi had actually asked for it. Probably to find out more about you and you as a person, the reasoning behind your unusual occupation and the without a doubt violent upbringing.

Jokes on him, though. “What can I say,” you shrugged weakly, “I’m an orphan. No idea where I came from and no idea who my parents are. The only thing I’m sure about is, that I have no kekkei genkai, thus I can’t belong to any kind of influential clan or such. Most assassins without chakra come from orphanages, to be quite honest.”

Hatake nodded. “No ties to anyone. They can be formed and trained without anyone missing them.”

“Exactly. So, my mentor found me, saw something in me and took me in, followed by years and years of rigorous training and the warning to never accept a contract for a shinobi, because I would lose. Well, you can see how much his teachings meant to me.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died.”

Tense silence. One look at the man by your side and you couldn’t suppress the little giggle living in your chest any longer. “Oh to the gods, no! I didn’t kill him! He was old and for once, he died of a natural cause. Something with his heart, but he was in his 80s too, so, he lived an untypically long life.”

You weren’t insulted by him thinking you killed the closest to a parental figure you ever had. A natural cause, born by the shared occupation and the bitter truth that many people tended to kill their teachers in your part of the world, to take over their clients and expensive special equipment.

 

Obviously, Hatake knew about the harshness, thus, came to the only logical conclusion he could draw from your short answer to his question. Not a thing to get agitated over.

The conversation died down, carried by the sound of your steps and the overall dimmed down noise of a busy village around you.

“Where are you taking me?” you asked, all the while looking around the scenery. You were by now a little bit outside of the main streets of Konoha, people streamed towards the main street, but you two were going against the stream. “Aren’t most restaurants and diners in the middle of Konoha?”

“Yes.”

“So…”

For the first time this evening, Hatake smiled with creased eyes. A sign he relaxed a little bit in your proximity, that far you could tell from your investigation and spying on him. “There may be many restaurants in the center of Konoha, but that doesn’t really speak for the quality, isn’t it? Besides,” his voice changed to a much lighter, almost playful tone, “I have some issues and a little privacy never hurt nobody.”

“More time to interrogate me, huh?”

“More privacy to eat and yes, maybe a bit to interrogate you.”

You hummed under your breath. “Alright. Then let’s go. I could eat a horse.”

The rest of the way was accompanied by silence. Though, not the kind of silence which is weighing on the mood, but the kind of silence which was simply content. A strange atmosphere to have on a meeting between an assassin and his target. But… But it was a good way of feeling, and you tried to make sense of this until Hatak… Kakashi stopped suddenly in the middle of the street and pointed towards a small, brown, almost invisible door.

“We’re here.”

The entrance alone didn’t look like anything special and when he opened the door for you and gestured you to step inside fist, you weren’t too impressed either. Anybody could hold a door and look too smug for his own good. A short glare met Hatake, then you stepped inside. The scent of deliciously cooked food filled your nose almost instantly, basically an assault of different delirious spices, meat in all varieties, vegetables and the smoke of a warm fire. The scent hit your like an earth jutsu right in the face, so strong that saliva instantly started to pool in your mouth.

Only a few people sat inside, all of them nursing a probably home-brewed beer. Some of the customers looked up from their plates as you stepped inside, bringing some fresh air and night coldness into the warm room, but the suspicion in their eyes eased when Hatake came into their view.

A regular, then.

 

The realization only grew when the man behind the counter at the other side of the room spotted Hatake, his round, red face lightened up like a streetlamp, and gestured at Hatake to step closer.

“Good to see you again, Hatake-san.” The man said, while pouring with practiced motions a dark beer. “The usual?”

The shinobi shook his head. “Not today. But the usual table would be nice, Tatsuma-san.”

Against your will, you were mesmerized. So, Hatake was a regular here, such a regular in fact that he had an “usual” table and an “usual” order. Interesting. Still slightly flabbergasted, you followed the two men on silent feet, through the labyrinth of tables and chairs. An alcove was the goal; a small hole in the wall complete with a table, a rounded bench rimming the table and a curtain which fell immediately when you and Hatake sat comfortably on the pillowed bench.

“Cozy,” you commented, “and also private. Nice choice.”

“Thank you.” Hatake lowered his head towards the small menu card Tatsuma had slipped onto the table, before he pushed it towards you. “Here. I know what I want.”

_Probably knew that from the very moment he selected the location. Fucker._

Quickly, you scanned the menu. Lots of traditional, easy, simple food. More snacks going alongside with the alcohol, but also some bigger items. You picked something randomly and shoved the card again back into the middle of the table. “Alright. Then, what do you want to know about me?”

“Hm?” Hatake wasn’t even looking at you. He had inspected the wall _behind_ you; his one, unmarred eye intensely set on the bordure, chin shored by his hand and elbow resting neatly on the table, what automatically led your view onto the muscular forearm shown off by the rolled-up sleeve. Fuck, you had no idea if he was still playing you or if this was really accidental.

Probably more than the first than the latter.

To your frustration though, it worked. It worked too well. You had liked to watch him train and now, that your contract was so close in a private space, his forearms exposed and eyes finally fixated on you, heat curled in your lower stomach and nervousness in your chest.

It shouldn’t be like this. Yes, you should be nervous, but out of finally finalizing a difficult contract, out of the thrill of the hunt, out of dawning success. Not out of the anxiety of a _date_ _hopefully going right_. Not out of hoping his interest in you wasn’t only caused by your occupation.

You acted ridiculous, weren’t fit to be a hardened and professional assassin if you were that easily to sway. Your teacher would turn in his grave if he knew what you were feeling and would remind you in his stern, weathered voice: _“Never climb into the bed of the contract, no matter how big the benefits will be. It’s a faux impression and you will lose in the end.”_

Lose. Lose your contract, lose the battle, lose your life. Your stomach tightened at the thought, curled up and turned into pure ice. Dying definitely wasn’t on your agenda currently, thus, you would do everything in your power to absolutely not fall for the damned charms of this damned shinobi-!

“Why did you decide to stay in Konoha?”

Your mouth curled into a thin smile. “I thought I already explained that to you. I failed to fulfill my contract; thus, I need to lay low. In a village full of shinobi, I thought it would be for the best to go undercover. No pesky colleagues will come for me, here, in the devil’s den, so to speak.”

Kakashi didn’t even pause for a second. “Who hired you to take me down?”

“I have no idea.”

“Stop lying.”

“Really,” you threw your hands into the air, “I have literally no idea! Every contract goes over a middle man, to ensure the privacy of the client and also, to protect the identity of the assassin! Except for the details of the contract, I have nothing else.”

He stared at you like he didn’t quite believe you, but would let the topic rest for now. Just in time, the food arrived and probably saved you from another round of harsh questions and interrogations you could only fail (from his perspective).

 

Surprisingly, the food was… delicious. Easy, simple food, just like the owner had promised. You didn’t even notice how fast you were in shoveling your dinner into your mouth, until you stared at an empty plate and tasted the lingering spices on your tongue.

“Someone was hungry”, Kakashi mused and you barely contained a grimace at hearing his forced light tone, “but good to see you haven’t lost your appetite yet.”

“Why are you interested in my appetite?”

“We’re on a date, aren’t we? I have to make sure you’re satisfied.”

Your heart came to an abrupt stop. Your tongue went instantly dry. Blinking rapidly, you could only stare wide-eyed at the shinobi, stutter a confused “W-wha-what?” out and try not to blush furiously.

_A date!?_

_He has to be joking. It has to be._

_This is ridiculous! He’s just messing with me, of course, but why the fuck am I falling for this?_

His warm chuckle sent lightning through your veins.

“Damn shinobi,” you mumbled to yourself, “Damn tricksters.”

Kakashi’s eyes crinkled in his smile. “I could say the same about assassins.”

“Well, one could argue that shinobi are more versed in lying and deception than assassins. When you hang around an assassin, you can expect sooner or later a knife between your ribs. With a shinobi, you will never know what will happen.”

“So, I still have to expect a knife, huh?”

_Yes. A sharp knife held to your strong, beautiful neck. What a shame._

“No,” you lied straight through your teeth, “again, I already said so. I see no chance to kill you. Be happy, Hatake. Not many can say to have escaped from me.”

“If I were a lesser man, maybe I wouldn’t want to escape.”

His response stole the breath out of your lungs. What did he just-? Did he just-? No way. There was absolutely no freaking way Hatake, your contract, battle-hardened shinobi and certified hero of Konoha and the Fire Nation, just _flirted_ with you. In a really roundabout way, but still. It counted.

Was the tiny chance of getting attacked and killed something like a turn-on for shinobi? You had no idea, but measured at the reaction of Kakashi… It was very much possible.

“But you are no lesser man,” you leaned forward, towards the man, while your heart pounded harder and harder, “and escaping my clutches is one of your easiest exercises. Now, I have a question, while we are brutally honest with each other. Did you flirt with me?”

“Maybe. Is it working?”

“I don’t know what to make of this.”

“Believe it or not,” there it was again, this damn infuriating charming hidden _smile_ , “I find capable people attractive. And for shinobi, nothing is more attractive than the ability to play with knives and the skill to kill someone. And I believe,” he had the guts to inch closer, “you are the same.”

 

Enough. You could feel your blush raging right beneath the surface. He was playing with you, nothing else. “I’m done,” you stood up, “I don’t like to be played with.”

“And I don’t like being lied to.”

Your entire body froze. Even though Kakashi was still smiling, the authority and absolute demand to obey him forced you to sit down. Like he had control over you. In one fluid motion, he leaned backwards, seemingly relaxed and calm, but underneath the surface, his temper was boiling. He looked at you, still smiling and still demanding your obedience. “Your bloodlust was only muted. From the moment I saw you again in the bookstore. I had no idea what kind of disguise you were wearing now, so I had to observe you for a little bit longer. Get to know you. To find out what you were planning.”

“Damn shinobi,” you cursed out, hissing and spitting, “I should’ve known.”

“Yes, you should’ve.” He nodded alongside his own words. “How did you put it? _“With a shinobi, you will never know what will happen.”_ Fitting and correct, I have to say.”

“Fuck you, Hatake.”

“If you would, I wouldn’t object to that.”

 _Why is he still-?_ “Why are you still flirting with me?” You crossed your arms over your chest, frustration and blind fury raging inside your body. “Fine, you found me out. You got me. Just get it over with and throw me into prison. I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

“Oh, but I do.”

Wordlessly, you threw your hands into the air. You were officially done. You had no idea what Hatake was planning, doing, thinking at this point. His cryptid words weren’t helping either ( _like they ever helped_ , your brain provided, always the nice helper).

“Since we went on our date,” Hatake said, “I never lied to you, that much I can promise. It’s clear you will still try to kill me as soon as you smell a chance, but it’s also as clear as daylight to me that you’re attracted to me, in a sense which goes above and beyond the simple interest of an assassin into the contract. I’m flattered. And I have to say, the interest goes both ways.”

“Huh?”

_Very intelligent._

His laugh made the tension in the air disappear and you relaxed the tiniest bit. “I said that I wouldn’t mind waiting for you to come for me, if that would mean that I get to enjoy your presence a bit more.”

_…Oh._

_OH._

_OOOOOOH!_

“If you say so.” A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “I guess, my contract may not be as hopeless, after all.”

“We will see about that.”

 

Maybe, just this once, you wouldn’t try so hard to kill him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Chisie for proofreading! <3


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